Stay With Me
by RebelLoveSong
Summary: The water of the pool was still, with only ripples made by the soft gusts of wind. Towards one side, patches of red dotted the sides of the ceramic tiles and long the floor. Until they stopped; and a man lay there (NickxGatsby)


I was glad I stayed at home that day, rather than making the tedious journey to work. I was not aware that morning, how important this decision would have been. It seems like fate looking at it now, but I think after the commotions of the weekend, I just wanted to rest.

It all happened rather quickly; it was just after noon and I was in the middle of lunch when I heard it. A gunshot, followed by another a minute later. I jumped, hitting the table and knocking over the plates in the process. Rushing to the window I looked out at my neighbour's front lawn. The front of the house was silent. No gardeners or caterers were to be seen, an oddity for this time of the day. The usual scene was busy no matter where you looked. People rushing here and there, trying to get everything sorted for the weekend. There was something ominous about the lawn before me. As if everyone knew something bad was going to happen that day, so they didn't turn up.

I didn't even bother with a jacket, in order to save time, but I ran straight out of the front door heading towards Gatsby's. I spent the short journey there making up scenarios that might lie beyond those large doors. Who fired the gun? Was it Gatsby, or one of Wolfsheim's men, or someone completely different? Who did they shoot? And more importantly why? Did someone do something so bad, there was no other option? Or maybe it was just an argument that got out of hand. I was right about one thing though. Gatsby was directly involved – it was his house, so that was a given. But I never thought it was going to be the way it was.

I rushed up the steps and into the foyer, where I ran up to the first person I saw – the butler, who was just walking down the stairs.

"What happened?!" I panted, trying to regain my breath to continue, "I heard gunshots!"

The butler looked at me for a moment, "Yes I think they came from the garden. I hadn't thought much about them."

"Hadn't put much though into them?" I was shocked, I assumed he was one of Wolfsheim's protégés, but hearing two gun shots and not even registering them is just senseless. Surely, if one heard something like that they would at least try and find its source. "Where's Gatsby? Is he okay?"

"I'm not sure sir, he's been out in the garden all afternoon." Where the shots were fired no doubt. My stomach tightened and I began to panic. Something has happened to Gatsby and these men are just going about their daily lives as though nothing happened.

"Very well then, come one" I hurried off through the house towards to garden, the butler following me several steps behind. Neither of us said a word until we were outside beside the pool.

I have never cried in public many times, in fact I could name every situation on one hand, this being one of them. The water of the pool was still, with only ripples made by the soft gusts of wind. Towards one side, patches of red dotted the sides of the ceramic tiles and long the floor. Until they stopped; and a man lay there, his hair soaking wet and his body covered in blood.

"Gatsby!" I called running over and kneeling down beside the young man. I took off the jumper I was wearing, throwing it to the side and rolled up my sleeves. "Gatsby!"

A muffled groan came from his mouth. A part of me relaxed slightly. I was so afraid when I walked in and saw him here. I was almost certain he was dead. Taking great caution I placed my hands around his stomach and slowly turned him over, so that his back was against the floor and his head rested on my lap. A large, uneven hole protruded from his left breast, and blood was seeping out of it at a rapid rate. I grabbed the jumper I was wearing, placing it on his chest to try and stop the bleeding. Turning to the butler I ordered, "Phone up the doctor, tell them to get her as soon as possible. Tell them he has been shot!" The butler turned and entered the house immediately. As I looked back to Gatsby, "Gatsby, what happened?"

His breathing was scares and uneven, the bullet most likely punchered his lung, but his managed a whisper, "You know, when Daisy was driving the car the other day, and we hit that woman at the gas station?"

"Yes."

"Well," He took long breaths in between every few words struggling to speak, "It was her husband. He came through the tree over there." His hand weakly pointed to the far side of the garden. "Started shouting about how I killed his wife."

I looked out over to where Gatsby pointed, and to my shock I saw a figure lying just a few meters away in the grass. George Wilson lay there, his head blown to pieces, and a gun lying just off on the grass. "My God" I said with full shock and horror. I looked away quickly, forcing myself to focus on Gatsby, who was still lying with his head resting on my knees. Holding the back of his neck I moved so that my legs were crossed, and he lay back down again. He just lay there, breathing. He looked so pathetic, almost boy like. The great and mysterious Jay Gatsby, was no more great than you or I. It was this moment that reminded me that he was just a man, he was not some God from heaven, with all the riches and powers of Rome. He was just a man like the rest of us.

"Listen Gatsby," I soothed, pushing his hair out of his eyes, "It's all going to be okay now. The doctor's on his way. You'll be okay Jay"

And to my dismay, a soft chuckle escaped between his lips. He looked towards me, the corners of his mouth turning into a smile, "Funny. You've never called me Jay before." I supposed that was true. To my knowledge I've only ever referred to him as 'Gatsby'. "Hmm. I suppose that's true" I smiled back.

"Listen, old sport," he said after a few silent moment. I had taken my jumper away from his body now, it was no use in preventing the bleeding. My hand was now on his forehead, my thumb moving in a steady rhythm against his blond hair, "We're good friends aren't we?"

"Of course we have" I wondered where he was going with this.

"That's good old sport. You know, I've done a lot of stuff in recent years. Not all of it I'm proud of. But our friendship Nick, I'm glad I have it. I'd happily give everything up, just to stay friends with you."

"That's not true Gatsby," I said, "You have so much, you have everything, no one with all this would give any of it up for some folk he only met a few months ago."

"It is true Nick. What's the point in having everything if you're not happy?" he coughed, "I have spent, so many years trying to build myself up, trying to make a name for myself. All for what? To win back the love of a girl I barely knew."

"Yes, but it worked, didn't it?"

"I thought it had" he continued, "Everything seemed as though it would return back to the way it was. Then I saw that child. How it looked exactly like Daisy. I watched how the two of them acted together, then I realised what I was doing. If I took Daisy, I'd be taking her away from her daughter. I'm not a good man Nick, but I couldn't do that." He gave a discomforting groan, trying to find enough breath to continue,

"It occurred to me then old sport. Five years is an awful long time. I was so foolish to think she would wait for me that long. I was lonely those years. Whilst she was away, fallen in love, surrounded by family and friends. I was on my own. I've always been alone Nick, until now. Now I'm just glad I wont die alone."

"Don't you say that Jay Gatsby," My hands moved to either side of his face, tears were welling in my eyes. "Don't you dare. Don't even, for one second think you're going to die on me!"

He smiled, his right arm slowly moving up so that he could place a gentle had on my cheek. His blue eyes were pained, but content. I think at this point he knew what was coming, and he had accepted it. But I could not. I could not allow it. In the short time I knew him, Gatsby had become my entire life. My daily plans revolved around his, my world was based on his. Gatsby was unlike any other person I had ever met, and I did not want that to change.

"It's alright old sport" He smiled, "This day was going to happen sooner or later. Just promise you'll stay here. With me" His arm dropped back to the floor as his coughs became more forceful.

"I'm right here Gatsby. I'll always be here"

And so the two of us sat there, for goodness knows how long. At one point I began to doubt if he had even called for the doctor. It seemed as though there was nothing else for me to do but sit and watch. Watch him degenerate, watch his breathing getting slower, watch the hidden pain in his face. "Oh Gatsby," I tried not to cry, but even just looking at him sent me over the edge, "Why must bad things happen to good people?"

He gave me a bleary look, struggling to keep his eyes open, "That's the thing, old sport," He started, "I'm not, a good person." And with that his eyes closed, and I knew, there was nothing I could do.

"Gatsby!" I started shaking his head, as though I were trying to wake him up, "Gatsby please. Please don't do this." I bend my head over, my forehead pressed against his, gently rocking. "Please."

I can't quite remember how long I sat there, crying over his body. But my silence was interrupted by the butler running in with a doctor and police officer. Stupid fool took his time. The doctor came straight to me, examining Gatsby. At this point I knew I should have went, but I still sat there, running my hands through Gatsbys hair. Until the police officer, who I had assumed was just over at Wilsons body, walked up to me and said, "I think its best you go inside sir."

"Just give me one more moment," I pleaded, as the man walked away. I gave a final look at the young man, looking more like a boy, lying there. His eyes lightly shut, his mouth almost turned into a smile. '_Well_,' I thought, _'at least he's at peace.'_ I leaned my head downwards, placing my forehead against his one final time. "Goodbye, Jay Gatsby" Carefully I removed his head from my lap and set his body gently on the floor. I stood up, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. I looked over at the police officer, who motioned for me to go inside. I did so, my knee's weakening as I walked.

Holding onto the door frame I took one final glance out to the lawn. The image of him lying there still burns in the front of my mind. The great Jay Gatsby lying there nothing more than a dead man. No wealth or status surrounded him. No golden blankets wrapped around him. He just lay there. Alone. And I guess it was meant to happen that way.

**Sorry for any errors in this. I always appreciate a wee rate and review 3**


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